


made you look

by hawrthiacoopri



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Gen, M/M, i love stan being a dancer and bill being a baseball player, love it sm, tiny stan and big strong bf bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawrthiacoopri/pseuds/hawrthiacoopri
Summary: It certainly wasn’t anything like his usual fitted, slim-cut button ups with slacks or corduroy pants that were wonderfully complimentary of his figure, but it looked just as good as them over his khaki shorts. God, Bill thought, snorting a little, Stan always had looked so preppy in those shorts- he hadn’t worn them for years, not since(since he almost died his face was so covered in blood you can still see the scars oh my god where are the scars now where did they go)middle school, but you could hardly see them under the shirt. He wasn’t wearing a visible baseball undershirt, but he’d buttoned it up all the way so it barely hinted at collarbone.“Heya, Bill.” Stan looked down at himself, his curls flopping upside down with the rest of his head, and he glanced up at Bill, his smile growing into a mischievous grin. “Like my shirt?”





	made you look

**Author's Note:**

> this is another bfrom my tumblr @gaybeverlymarsh (i change my url up a lot) and u can send me requests there or, even better, in the comments ogf this and my other fics!! i know its short im very sorry i just wanted to get it done

“You cuh-c-can huh-have it if yuh-y-hou want.” Bill’s voice is quiet in the small space of his room, and Stan looks up from where he’s tracing the embroidery on his jersey. They’re in Bill’s small bedroom after the fifth game of his third season of baseball, supposedly doing homework, but really just sitting and talking, and Stan’s hand follows the sewn pattern of the patch that says 06 on it before he glances up and catches Bill’s eyes with his own.

“Gee, really, Bill? Can I?” Stan’s voice is tempered with eagerness and excitement, and he unconsciously balls a fist into the material.

Bill nods, his messy, slightly sweaty hair pieces falling out of place and across his face. Stan reaches up and absently fixes them, smoothing a hand over his boyfriend’s red waves and letting his hand fall to cup Bill’s freckled cheek, before dropping it all together. Bill practically nuzzled into the touch at how rare and nice it was. “Yuh-yeah, I m-m-mean, untuh-hil the next guh-g-game,” he replies after a moment, before he moves away from Stan, who flops against the bed when Bill leaves his post as a support pillar, and starts unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his white long sleeved undertop, before tossing the shirt on top of Stan. The smaller boy scrambles up, taking the dirty shirt off of his head and inspecting it.

 

“Oh, GROSS,” Stan complains. “You put your dirty shirt on my head, that’s weird, Bill.”

Bill smiles at him in return, taking the shirt back delicately and starting to fold it. “Guh-huess you don’t w-wuh-want it th-then, do you?”

“No!” Stan reaches for the shirt, but Bill only holds it higher. “Give it!” Bill just laughs, backing up a bit, and soon enough Stan’s going en pointe just to reach the shirt.

He‘s still much too short, obviously, and Bill lowers the shirt to give back to his boyfriend before dropping it onto Stan’s fingertips and stepping backwards. “Thuh-th-there.” he grins at Stan’s indignant face. “Nuh-now you’ve got it.”

“I guess,” He huffs, folding it up and sliding it inside his backpack. Checking his watch, he blows a lock of hair out of his eye in a way that makes Bill’s heart flutter in a familiar way. “Aw, shoot, it’s closer to curfew than I thought. I gotta get home, Big Bill.”

He picks up his backpack, kissing Bill on the cheek absently before he starts heading out the door to his car.

And Bill flops back onto his bed, sighing a little and smiling at the feeling of Stan’s lips on his cheek. In a rare moment of weakness, he touches his hand to the spot where he was kissed.

The day had been great- he’d won the game, aced a quiz, gotten a kiss from Stan… Bill was a simple guy to please. There wasn’t much to it.

He’d find out the next day what a simple guy he was.

It really wasn’t all that good at first- Stan drove to school where Bill biked, they didn’t have the first few periods together- but come lunch break and Bill’s day got astronomically better.

The redhead was walking out of the mess hall with his vending-machine chips and soda in hand when he saw Stan sitting in his regular spot, waiting for Bill to come so they could find a spot to sit. They almost always sat on campus- they didn’t like the park much, anyways, but a bunch of the people they didn’t much need to be bothering with sat there. When Bill saw what Stan was wearing, though, he felt a wave of goosebumps

(shockflesh)

run up his arms.

Stan was in his uniform shirt.

Why was Bill surprised by this? He scolded himself. Obviously Stan was going to wear it, he gave it to him. Shirts were meant to be worn.

He guessed he just didn’t figure Stan would look so good in it.

It wasn’t the right size, that’s for sure. Not even close. The sleeves went down to his elbows and the bottom grazed the middle of his thigh, and it was like a tent on Stan’s tiny shoulders and chest and waist- everything, really. Stan was a tiny guy. It hung off of him like wet clothes on a line.

It certainly wasn’t anything like his usual fitted, slim-cut button ups with slacks or corduroy pants that were wonderfully complimentary of his figure, but it looked just as good as them over his khaki shorts. God, Bill thought, snorting a little, Stan always had looked so preppy in those shorts- he hadn’t worn them for years, not since

(since he almost died his face was so covered in blood you can still see the scars oh my god where are the scars now where did they go)

middle school, but you could hardly see them under the shirt. He wasn’t wearing a visible baseball undershirt, but he’d buttoned it up all the way so it barely hinted at collarbone. His hair matched the whole just-got-out-of-bed aesthetic, too, Bill though lovingly, longing to run his hands through the messy nest of curls on Stan’s head. It was obviously done with the intention of looking undone. It even looked tousled. 

“Hey, kuh-k-kid,” Bill greeted, taking Stan’s hand and helping him up, reciprocating the little smile Stan was giving him.

“Heya, Bill.” Stan looked down at himself, his curls flopping upside down with the rest of his head, and he glanced up at Bill, his smile growing into a mischievous grin. “Like my shirt?”

Bill frowned slightly. “Nuh-not your shuh-sh-shirt. It’s muh-m-m-hine.” He tugged at the hem. “You’re juh-just b-b-borrowing it.”

“Whatever you say Bill,” Stan replied, rolling his eyes affectionately. “But do you like it?”

The redhead looked down at the smaller boy, surveying him with surgical care he didn’t really need. “Yuh-yeah,” He said finally. “Thuh-there’s only wuh-wuh-one thing.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Ih-it s-s-says Denbrough on the buh-b-back, right?”

“Mhm.”

“And puh-people know weh-we’re kinda together, ruh-right?”

“Yeah, I guess…” Stan’s eyes darted around Bill’s face for a clue of what he meant, but Bill only smiled.

“Ih-it just looks a l-little like…” He trailed off. “Luh-like you sp-spuh-spent the night over and nuh-needed a chuh-change.” Bill walked on in silence, leaving Stan confused.

Stanley jogged up after him, not used to the speed, holding onto Bill’s shoulder and asking, “so? Who cares?” He kept walking on his tippy toes, forcing Bill down a little into a slouch as he talked. “I’ve slept over at your house before school before.”

“Y-y-yeah,” Bill practically hissed. “Buh-huh-hut not coming to scuh-scuh-school the day after in m-my cluh-hothes, Stah-hanley.”

The confused look on Stan’s face shifted, and his hands went to his trim waist and settled on his tips. “Oh,” he said with a grin. “So that’s what’s up with you.” He straightened the shirt and grabbed Bill’s hand, mussing up his hair with his free one, and kept walking.

“S-s-s-so…” Bill trailed off. The shorter boy looked up at him with a smirk. “So, yuh-you’re okay with th-th-that?”

“Mhm!” Stan’s curls bobbed as he nodded and he pressed a quick kiss onto Bill’s jaw- the only place he could reach from so far below. “I love it, actually. I know why you were staring now, at least.”

“I wuh-wasn’t st-st-staring,” Bill mumbled, looking away. “I was j-j-just… ah-admiring.”

“Admiring?”

“Ah-ah-admiring.”

“Hm.” Stan looked up at his boyfriend, tapping his chin as if wondering something, like a detective. Bill felt his heart leap a little at how cute Stan looked like that. “Admiring isn’t what it looked like.”

Sighing in frustration, Bill looked back at the thin brunnet. “Ih-it’s what it wuh-wuh-was,” he responded, squeezing Stan’s hand. “I swuh-swuh-swear

(swear to me youll all come back swear it i swear bill i do i love you i love you i love)

th-that’s all it w-w-was.” He was more earnest now, wanting to make it clear to Stanley he respected him and would never treat him like a pretty thing to look at and not to talk to, loved him enough to treat him with decency.

Stan chewed his lip, looking at Bill in thought, before breaking out in a new smile and bumping his hip playfully.

“It’s okay, Bill,” He said happily. “I’m glad you looked.”

And the way Stan’s hair gleamed in the late summer sun and his frame looked so dwarfed and lovely in his jacket (oh how Bill loved he could say it was his), Bill was glad he looked, too.


End file.
